ALL THE LONELY PEOPLE

It's your birthday.

Truth be told, you've blown out too many candles

You aren't excited about getting any older

It feels the same.

Though you appear nonchalant

You actually do care.

You care about other people caring...

About your birthday,

Of which you care nothing about.

You wait for the phone calls. You stare at your Facebook notifications.

You want to see that red square with a high number within it. 

Just like when you were a kid, you like this day, because it makes you feel special.

It makes you feel popular.

You want people to show up. You want to be the center of attention for a change.

You want to be rewarded for simply being alive. 

But as you've gotten older, the rewards decrease. Your friends start to have excuses. They can't find a babysitter. They have a 5 p.m. meeting and can't make it for cocktails. You aren't blowing out any candles, because no one bought you a cake. At work, your coworkers present you with a grocery store cupcake. It has a candle stuck in it. They sing happy birthday. 

You can't help but think...

These people are just trying to be nice. They are just following formalities. They don't even know what city I was born in. They never even call to say hello. They walk away when I approach the water cooler.

This has turned into the loneliest day of your life. You just want to feel special, not patronized.

You want to be reassured, that it's a great thing to enter another year of life. After all, there are people around you who know you exist and who want you to continue to exist.

But you aren't even sure that your so-called friends remember your birthday. 

You glance over your text messages as you sit at the bar alone. You wait for a coworker who was nice enough to do happy hour with you for your birthday. They never show up when you invite them out, but this time, they do. They show up because it's your birthday, and they feel that they have to. They show up ten minutes late with a forced smile. The bartender wishes you a happy birthday after your coworker mentions it. 

The bartender offers you a free chocolate cake for desert. 

For thirty years of life, you are only worth a piece of a chocolate cake? 

I wonder what forty will bring. 

Joyce Vincent, Dead 3 years...

Joyce Vincent, was a thirty-eight year old woman, who was found dead in her United Kingdom apartment in 2006. The only thing strange about it, was that she had been dead for over three years. The television was on, and she was surrounded by Christmas gifts that she planned to wrap. Christmas gifts for friends who never even bothered to check on her, for some three years while she lay dead. 

She was a beautiful Black woman. She had an amazing singing voice, had rubbed elbows with celebrities and was engaged to be married. No matter how beautiful and statuesque she was, she still couldn't convince people that her existence mattered. 

You see, Joyce could be any of us. Rich or poor, average or supermodel, we all get lonely. When we were kids, we assumed that life would be full of lively birthday parties. We thought, if mommy loves me, then surely the world does too. Well, high school arrived. We ate the apple and the fig leaf fluttered to the ground. We soon learned, that the friends we thought we had, moved on to a new identity. We discovered that birthday parties were no longer about us. People came to your party based on who was going to be there. You became an afterthought, sometimes not even a thought at all. 

Did someone really buy me a bottle of wine? Everyone knows I don't drink wine.

I guess everyone doesn't know, huh?

Wait, are they drinking the wine they bought for me as a gift? 

Do I have to force drink this wine?

When you left the comfort of home, where wall markings celebrated every inch grown, the world slowly became darker. People fail to notice your new highlights and no one keeps track of your height. So you parade yourself around, hoping to be seen. You go to house parties but unlike the childhood slumber parties of yesteryear, your friends have replaced you with alcohol and erections. 

No one is there to laugh with you, they are there to get drunk and to get laid. 

Formal dinner parties are just awkward. Everyone talks about their careers and your underwear keep riding up your ass. The conversations seem to be rehearsed and you'd rather be in bed watching Parks and Recreation. Instead, you are here, pretending to like her tilapia and tolerating your neighbors pretentious husband. Yes, to be a popular adult, you need to be fake. You need to tolerate. 

As you get older, your birthday means less to your friends, so it means less to you.

They become more interested in the party, than the person blowing out the candles. 

It seems that every year, the faces change around the cake. People aren't as consistent as they once were. 

You can't remember the last time these idiots sat with you on a couch, yet here they are...

With their smart phones taking photos of you for Facebook. 

It seems that social media has become you. This is where you hang out. Mary never responded to my text but I know where to find her. She's on Instagram in front of a mirror. She's more interested in the comments of strangers than remembering to wish you a happy birthday. 

She says to you on Twitter,

"Sorry, I've been swamped with work, but we are hanging out this weekend! Drinks on me!"

You wonder, why couldn't this bitch just call me? 

Come to think of it, no one ever calls you. When they do, they are lost some where and need directions or they have some hot gossip that they just have to tell you.

You could be bleeding out of your rectum, but they never ask how you are doing. They really need to tell you who they saw in the public bathroom. You don't care about the story. You don't even care about the man or woman lying next to you in your bed.

Why did I invite them over? I wasn't even horny. 

You just wanted to feel a warm body. Your apartment seemed lonely. It was just you and Nancy Grace. You and the cat who only looks at you when it wants to be fed. 

Another meaningless hookup and another phone call from someone who has a lot to say, but says nothing at all. 

You are lonely and you don't realize it. 

When you're in a crowded bar, you are lonely. It doesn't matter how many guys hit on you. 

Or how many women laugh at your corny jokes. You just don't feel that camaraderie anymore. The spark isn't there. The familiarity is gone, replaced with acquaintances with busy schedules and an intoxicated interest in your casual conversation. 

When you go to one of your friends housewarmings, you are lonely.

Everyone is so celebratory about their new home, but you don't give a damn. It's not your home. Your friend seems happy to see you but they only stayed at your birthday dinner for twenty minutes. They brought a date who you knew nothing about and now here you are, at their new home, staring at their fiance. 

There are so many new developments, that haven't been explained before hand.

You used to talk about everything together. Now you're awkwardly introduced as the best friend as you notice the absence of your picture any where in the apartment. His photos, however, are everywhere. At least he has a firm handshake. 

Fuck adulthood. People seem to come and go. When they are around, they don't even seem to be there. It's like you have to put on a show just to get someone to show up for the next act. It seems everyone is competing for each others attention, yet they are unaware of an Alexander Graham Bell invention. They are all comedians, philosophers and rebels on a website that makes them all feel important.

Every morning, you wake up with your pillow and you ask yourself, 

"If I didn't wake up, would anyone care to notice?"

You buy all the nice clothes to be noticed. You buy all the gadgets to feel connected. But all anyone notices is the clothes, not you. All you are connected to is web identities with short attention spans.

What happened to the bar where everyone knows your name? What happened to the coffee shop poets? Now it's just latte linguistics. 

There are no friends at Starbucks. Just lonely people on their laptops and tablets, feigning romance with hot overpriced drinks with fancy names.

We live in a world of make believe. We convince ourselves that we are popular because twelve people liked a status about the Seahawks. Sure people think you are funny because they said "LMAO" after one of your text messages. Would they be reeling in laughter had you said this in person? 

None of it is genuine. 

You go to work alone. So you turn on the radio or pop in your favorite CD. 

Maybe you ride the subway and you're surrounded by tons of people, the same people everyday, but you never talk to any of them. Your Ipod prevents you.

We are lonely by choice. 

Who would approach you while you're preoccupied with your touch screen?

The thing is, we are afraid to admit that we are indeed lonely. We are billions of lonely people, pretending to be popular with billions of other lonely people who are doing the same thing. 

You blow out the candles, everyone is clapping, even your sister who you've never seen eye to eye with. 

For that moment, you feel loved. You can't wait to upload the photos they took. People will see, that you are not lonely. That people showed up for you. 

You stare at the photo while you lay in bed. You read the comments from people who never showed up for your birthday because they were too busy. The people who were at the party, don't call you the next day. They don't hang out with you the next weekend.

The bartender doesn't remember you, but you remember how stale that chocolate cake tasted. 

Your sixty-five year old mother gives you a hug, she whispers to you,

Happy Birthday baby.

A tear falls from your eye as flashbacks of pizza and pointy hats fill your mind. 

When she dies, who will wish you a happy birthday like this?

All the lonely people

Where do they all come from? 

THE GAY THINGS, STRAIGHT MEN DO

FOOTBALL

Not long ago, I chilled with a straight guy named Rob, at his bachelors pad. We played beer pong, watched college football and took turns burping. To be honest, I don't give a fuck about football, but the homo eroticism is better than a wam-bam casual encounter from Craigslist. To sit next to a hot, six foot, muscular jock on a couch, while he talks about fucking women.... Is simply divine! Have you ever noticed that football makes straight guys horny? They usually end up fucking their girlfriends or wives after their favorite team wins. I always enjoy being in the room while these heterosexuals get all juiced up over grown men tackling each other over a big hard ball. Sex never happens, the self torture hurts, but the jack off session later is worth it. Wait, I digressed. Sorry.

The straight mans Broadway

Beer pong is fun and burping without saying "excuse me" can be liberating. There is something intimate about guys getting together to watch football. In all actuality, all we are doing is watching a bunch of guys in skin tight pants tackling each other and showing off their bulges. What's even more interesting, is the fact that guys wear the jerseys of their football idols; They passionately cheer them on in their manly way with their buds. Grown men wearing the numbers of their idols, in a room full of other excited guys, where man hugs are exchanged when touchdowns are made... 

Football is extremely gay, both on the field and around the plasma screen. Sports in general promotes a very intimate male camaraderie, but football takes the cake, with its shirtless super fans and man cave tight end watch parties. As a grown man bends over and throws a big brown ball between his legs, millions of other grown men watch that tight ass in HIGH DEFINITION.
And after those Ravens win or lose that game, they hit the showers
Yes, I WILL RSVP THE SUPER BOWL PARTY! 
HELL. THE. FUCK. YES. 

GANGBANG/BUKKAKE

Quiet as it's kept, I've always enjoyed so-called straight porn more than gay porn. Nothing like Belladona getting gang-banged by a bunch of horny prisoners. The male porn star Brian Pumper loves to gang-bang chicks with other guys, one dick in the pussy and the other one in the ass. How gay is that? Two sets of balls slap against each other while they aggressively fuck a big breasted bimbo. Then there's bukkake, which is a bunch of so-called straight guys, standing in a circle, masturbating on a female. You mean to tell me there is nothing gay about a guy standing in front of other guys, jacking off? I don't care how many vagina's are in the room!

Oh the gay things heterosexual men do. 

Lovin' the Crew

When I was a teenager, I would hangout with a lot of straight black guys. It was as if they could only have sex with a girl, if other guys were around. One time they were adamant about fucking some Ethiopian slut in the backseat of my Toyota Corolla. Does fucking a subservient girl with other guys make them feel more dominant? Or is it an excuse to get their rocks off with other guys? I may be mistaken but it seems like the act of gang bang is more prevalent in the black community. Young black men grow up in a hip hop culture where it is deemed "cool" to fuck a girl in the ass. Cool to get a girl who enjoys "LOVING THE CREW" which basically is the act of getting fucked by a guy and all his homies. My question is, if you are already fucking in the ass and already in a room full of other naked dudes with erections, why not fuck a guy in the ass?
I speak for myself, but as a gay man, I could certainly get my rocks off in a gang-bang on a girl if I were surrounded by hot guys with big hard dicks. (Especially if they cheered me on in the way in which they watch football.)
Don't start feeling too sexy ladies, they may be more into each other than they are into you.

JESUS

As a preachers kid I have always found myself surrounded by a shirtless buff White man on a cross, and I found myself strangely turned on by Jesus's six pack.
A bunch of grown men in robes crying, screaming and doing everything but busting nuts over a sexy White man who enjoyed getting his feet washed by twelve groupies is very gay.
This may come across controversial but people take religion way too seriously anyway.
Take a step back and look at the flaming queen on the pulpit, twirling around in a robe, confessing his love for a White male carpenter.
Straight men seem to love getting excited over another man, Whether it be Ray Lewis or Jesus.
"I've got the baddest bitch in the game, wearing my chain!" That's right, Jesus has all these bad male bitches wearing His chain, even if it is technically a graven image.
Holy Communion is the most gay of all, especially in the Catholic and Episcopal churches.
All the men dressed up in their Sunday's best, line up to get a chance to get on their knees and get a wafer fed to them by a grown man in a robe. I often wonder if those priests go commando. I digress.

Aint this some gay shit...

They take those wafers with their tongues and they sip the wine from the chalice with their eyes closed.
Vatican controversy aside, there is a lot of gayness in a religion that claims being gay is an abomination.
So while the straight men sing, play tambourines and idolize powerful men in a Bible absent of powerful women, I'll be jacking off to Michelangelo's David.

FRATERNITIES 

Do I really need to explain this?

This video will do the talking.

I went to a historically Black college, Clark Atlanta University, and let me tell you, the Que's stepping on the yard sometimes got confused with gay porn. Nothing but big burly shirtless black men jumping up and down with their ass cracks showing.

A fraternity is the gayest thing known to man. Look at it in it's entirety.
Once again, straight men love to idolize other men. In a fraternity, they will get themselves branded by other men in a room full of shirtless screaming men. They will do anything for their "brothers" and they often go on retreats for the rest of their lives to a secret location with their brothers. No women allowed.
The fraternal order is male bonding at it's finest. They dance together, scream together and did I mention, they get naked together?
My father told me that during hazing for his fraternity, they would tie a string around your dick and see how much pain you can take.
The fact that a grown man will do ANYTHING to be apart of an orgy of manhood is very homo erotic.
Have you noticed how fraternities are always doing something SHIRTLESS?
Bare chested young men with a passion for male camaraderie is a common theme in the lives of the heterosexual male.

IS BEYONCE A FEMINIST?

For millions around the world, the name, "BEYONCE" evokes an image of the most powerful female entertainer in the world.

You may even think of more than one woman; A cinematic daydream of a revolution of women "running the world", through the inspiration of this one, independent woman.

Me personally, I think of a victim of the entertainment industry with an identity crisis. A woman who never had a childhood. A lonely superstar who has never had a true friend outside of the industry. An illusion of feminism concocted by male puppet masters.

VIDEO: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, the African writer featured on "Flawless"

I think of a colossal mismatch of messages. One minute girls run the world, the next minute...
She's simply, "Mrs. Carter"
If you're not just "his little wife" then maybe you shouldn't have changed your last name.

In this blog I will tackle the question which isn't suppose to have an answer.

Is Beyonce a feminist?

Wait, do we even know what a feminist is?

According to Merriam-Webster, feminism is the theory of the political, economic and social equality of the sexes. It is the organized activity on the behalf of women's rights. 

I will start off by addressing my admiration of this survivor of the cut-throat slaughter house that is the music industry. I commend Beyonce for being head strong and taking her own career by the reigns. She's been able to do things most men haven't been able to do. She's got her hands in many pots and created a new word for the dictionary. She's expressed her sexuality in the ways of a man and never settled in the role of the blonde bimbo who waits for a man to jack off to her. She takes the lead, calls the shots and commands the man to dance with her. She's bound together millions of women and gay men alike in a movement of self realization and retaliation against a "man's world."

But does all of this make her a feminist? Or is she actually just a tragic story of a muzzled recording artist, dressed up like a fire starter?

But where are her degrees?

Is she a hypocrite? Does she want women to bow down to her while saying that women to run the world?

You decide.

It's Friday the 13th. Everyone is already feeling a bit uneasy. What do I buy these people for the holidays? Will I get a bonus this year? Is there going to be black ice on the road on my commute to work? Will I have bad luck today? And then she hit us.

Beyonce surprised the world of zombies with her midnight iTunes only album release. Not just an album, seventeen accompanying music videos. Not just music videos, HIGH BUDGET videos with guest stars, special effects and dialogue.

VIDEO: My video version of this blog featuring "Yonce"

Cynical as I always am, I actually enjoyed most of this new body of work, including the videos. I was entranced by her, from the ratchet rhymes to the emotional ballads. It seems that Beyonce has crossed into a new dimension, a deeper identity of which she is willing to share with the world. No more robotic pop star who hides from lyrics too personal. She's giving us MARY J BLIGE, telling us the 411. Who knew that Jay Z skeeted on her gown on the way to a club in the car? Who knew Beyonce didn't feel "pretty"? What was really shocking to me, was when she expressed, though briefly, her feelings about the crooked record labels. With all of this, there seemed to be a conscious effort to appear vulnerable, but most of all, a voice for women. Beyonce always waved the flag of Girl Power with hits like RUN THE WORLD, SINGLE LADIES, INDEPENDENT WOMEN and IRREPLACEABLE. However, now she's taken it to another level by asking "bitches" to bow down, then telling them that they can do anything a man can do. The voice of an African feminist writer seems a bit odd on a Beyonce record. Is Beyonce truly finding herself in her music or is she just becoming more confusing to the masses? One minute she's "Flawless" with a bunch of White grunge trouble makers, the next, she's feeling unpretty like TLC???

She commands women to bow down to her while asking them to empower themselves? It's a lot to take in. WHO ARE THESE WOMEN WRAPPED UP IN THE NAME BEYONCE? WHOEVER THEY ARE, I REALLY LIKE ALL OF THEM!!! It's funny when you step back from Beyonce, you see a beautiful mess, or should I call it, a "Beautiful Nightmare." When you're wrapped up in her beautiful voice and sexy body, you forget to look at the bigger picture, WHAT IS HER OVERALL MESSAGE HERE? Are you a feminist?

Or an egoist?

FEMINISM OR EGOISM?

MATERIALISM is the new FEMINISM?

She's already stated that she's got a big ego, with the help of Kanye West, the self-proclaimed douchebag. Is her message that she's a bad bitch so keep making her rich? Or does she represent women who need to be uplifted? She doesn't appear to be humble, she doesn't appear to strive for anything other than material wealth, so how organic is her "feminist" position? If your idea of measuring up to a man is the accumulation of wealth, then I feel sorry for you actually. It's progressive to not need a man for money, but didn't you and your backup dancers beg a man to "PAY YOUR BILLS" back in the day? Maybe you've matured, no wait, you haven't. In "UPGRADE U" she merely speaks of Hermes briefcases and expensive cars when it comes to upgrading a man.
Why can't you upgrade a man to get beyond materialism in the journey toward humility? Why does a woman need to become rich in order to be heard or valued? Why does a woman need to be "Flawless" in order to "look good"? That's what she said in her song "Flawless"....You know, the same song where she opens up asking women to BOW DOWN. Sorry, not women, "BITCHES". I mean, the African writer, Chimamanga Ngozi Adichie, who talks about the struggles of the woman on the Beyonce track "Flawless", seems random and almost like lipstick on a pig. What the fuck does feminism have to do with being flawless? It's not like Beyonce was talking about inner peace and happiness, she spoke of her physical appearance.

PARTITION: Is this what a feminist looks like in 2014?

I thought a woman was more than her figure, more than what a man deems important. You said that "Pretty Hurts" but place extra attention on your looks in other songs. You behave like a stripper with other scantily clad women in the "Partition" video while your surveying husband smokes a cigar with an erection. Every time you talk about your BIG EGO it's because of your financial success and body? Not because of your character or ability to break down barriers? Merely becoming a millionaire isn't breaking down any barriers as Janet Jackson, Mariah Carey, Madonna, Cher, and many before you have already done that honey. I'm not a hater, I'm just confused.

Don't get me wrong, I respect her hustle. I respect a woman getting money. I understand that men think to get women they need to impress them with diamonds, but if Beyonce already has her own rock, then it's implied that they need to impress with their soul. But when she met Jay Z, he made way more money than her and she wasn't as big of a super star. Actually, she left her high school sweetheart for rich rapper Jay Z.

If Beyonce is to sample snippets of the great thinker, Chimamanda Adichie, whose speech touched on gender roles, then maybe Beyonce needs to be an example of resistance rather than a regurgitation. In "Cater to You" by Destiny's Child, she sings about cooking her man dinner and doing anything for her man. She plays the stereotypical gender role to an exact T, even in the way she interviews. If you interview her, you are prepared to speak to a little girl, demure and "so blessed". Interviewers are bored with a woman who refuses to talk about her husband while her husband constantly treats her like a trophy.

He constantly calls her "THE BADDEST BITCH IN THE GAME WHO WEARS HIS CHAIN" in his music and in public. And MRS. CARTER wears his chain and raises the sign of ROCKAFELLA, her husbands company. She is quiet while her man is loud in interviews. She plays the gender role as if she's in a corset, waiting for the horse and carriage to arrive. Is this a feminist who sees a problem with gender relations? Or is she exploiting gender?

Angry about gender roles Beyonce?

I think Beyonce is a talented writer, entertainer, singer and mogul. I just think this "feminist" stance is literally manufactured. She's handled, she's packaged. She's a repetitive contradiction. You can't take her too seriously, she may not even deserve this blog entry. She's a simple pregame for the club. She's a sing-a-long after a heartbreak but she is NOT a voice of a revolution. She's not even a deep dialogue at a dinner party, she's probably still as demure as that little Houston debutante. She is certainly a woman who speaks through her "art" but it's not even HERS. She interprets, she performs and may have a few ideas along the way. She's not a Janis Joplin or an Angela Davis and certainly not a Chimamanda Adichie, even if she puts a soundbite on her record. She's just an entertainer in a black leotard, so why do we ponder her so philosophically? Why am I? Because people seem to take her seriously and so does she. Well, She's not the leader of the free women. How could she be when she is so unfocused. Blonde weave blowing in the fan while she preforms "Pretty Hurts." If it hurts so bad, stop making it look so good.

Is the Law of Attraction a Fraud?

Ever look around yourself in complete confusion? 

These people shouldn't be here...

Are these my friends?                                                                                       

Is he as good as it gets? 

Is this my job? 

Why am I here? 

IS THIS MY LIFE?

I've read "The Secret" with an admitted cynicism. I understand the power of positive thinking, but after weeks of visualization boards and taking "can't" and "never" out of my vocabulary, it seems that my grass still isn't green enough. You see, the law of attraction, as it's called, kind of makes you feel crazy. It wants you to see things which are not there yet. The four car garage full of Bentley's when your 2010 Toyota Corolla just got repossessed. It wants you to fall in love with a man who doesn't exist, while you shamefully hike your draws up after another bad hookup. 

Don't get me wrong, the basics have always been something which have worked for me. If I wake up in the morning and tell myself that it will be a great day at work, that I will get all of my work done on time and there won't be any drama, the day actually goes a lot smoother. But as far as red carpets and a six foot mass of muscle laying next to me on Egyptian cotton...

I haven't gotten that far yet.

Is the law of attraction something we humans conjured up to make ourselves feel better about our pathetic lives? Is it a source of hope, similar to the likes of the major religions which paint promised lands in the midst of wars and pestilence? Is it a cash cow philosophy for Rhonda Byrne's, you know, just something to keep the drones dreaming while the charlatans get richer? 

The Capricorn in me has always struggled with the unseen. I've always questioned God and as a preachers kid, that questioning always got me in trouble. I've always wanted proof or at least a receipt. I don't like the idea of praying and waking up the next day to the same bullshit. I don't appreciate a God who is too stubborn to reveal Himself, nor a law of attraction which keeps me seeing unicorns in the land of student loan debt. 

What I can always appreciate, is the idea of hope. That maybe I do have control of my own destiny and all I need to do is just believe that my hard work will pay off. However, the poker faced side of me looks at the one percent of America and concludes that success only comes to those who it's chosen for. 

How powerful are our minds? Are we able to bend the status quo and create a matrimony of prosperity and happiness in the midst of corruption? Is this as good as it gets or are we just unwilling to ATTRACT what we want with our positive thinking? 

Ever since I was in first grade, I've seen myself as THE Isayaah Parker. A celebrated entertainer who no longer walks the earth invisible. The writer who wins awards and changes lives. I've seen myself as greater than the boy who was constantly teased for his stuttering, big ears and feminine behavior. As an adult, I see myself as more successful than the minimum wage jobs I've been enslaved to. I've visualized people respecting me, rather than micromanaging me and treating me like a robot.

I used to create worlds in my bedroom and on the middle school playground. My stuffed animals were my audience and my Pink hair moisturizer was my microphone, used for my Academy Award acceptance speech. Every time the family Volvo would stop in front of Church on Sunday's, I would imagine someone opening my door for me, I'd step out onto the red carpet, cameras flashing and fans screaming. I wouldn't hear my dad yelling at me to hurry up and get out of the car, I wouldn't see the steps of the church, All I would see is lights. I've used the law of attraction, over and over again; Not even on purpose. So why now in my late twenties am I not famous and sitting on a beach writing my next timeless classic? Why am I not turning Tyler Perry down for a role in his new film and accepting an offer from James Cameron? 

Pessimistic as it appears, I've always seen my life as a nefarious plot against me. I like the idea of reality transforming as a result of mere imagination; but it begs the question:

Will I ever be satisfied with my life? 

Ironic.

As the advertisements bewitch us with shit we don't need, as we splurge on self help books and overdose on gadgets which make us feel connected to glorified nothingness, What is it that we are after? No matter how much shit we acquire, we will always want more. Apple will always make what we do have, outdated in less than a year. Someone can always be more famous, more beautiful to the masses. The grass can always be greener, so green that it becomes an unrecognizable color. 

Is anyone ever truly satisfied with their reality? 

Why can't we live in the moment?

Why are we chasing conveyor belts? 

We are raised in a society that indoctrinates feelings of discontentment at an early age. Disney assigns roles and injects dreams of being a princess or a king. No child is ever satisfied being plain ole lil Mike or Gabby, they MUST aspire to be Snow White with seven adoring fans. They want to fly on carpets and sing about a whole new world because their current world is unacceptable. We grew up with bedtime stories and begin the assertion that reality is simply not good enough. We go on to school and work to better our lives, but our lives never truly get better. After all, no matter how much more income we acquire, we owe more money to someone, and we have to work even harder. 

What is the true lie? 

The idea that we can change our lives with daydreams? 

Or the notion that our lives need to be changed at all?

We unknowingly suffer in a society based on fear and messages of unfulfillment. 

You can change a life with a blog. You can be famous in your community. You can meet a friend at the park rather than waiting for two thousand friends on Facebook to like a status. 

Maybe what we need to attract is not the lifestyles of others....

Maybe we need to attract ourselves. 

Hollywood's Sympathetic Racism

Autumn arrives in America. 
           Green foliage bursts into an array of colors, 
                     While Hollywood is immune to seasons. 


Yes, Atop the walk of fame, 
the more things change, 
the more they stay the same.

October 4, 2013, the well anticipated film, Gravity was released, and weeks later, this negro right here, went to go see it. Why? Because I didn't feel like watching another depressing slave movie. I'd rather watch a White woman get hit upside the head by space debris. It starred academy award winner, Sandra Bullock. While a rich white woman got lost in space in a box office blockbuster, nameless Black faces picked even more cotton in another box office hit, 12 Years a Slave. 
Both films are surrounded by whispers of Oscars. These soft murmurings come to no surprise to those like me who keep an eye on the bullshit routine of tinsel town. 

In recent years, there has been an onslaught of films which depict depressed and oppressed Blacks. What is of more concern to me, is that all of these films were automatically deemed, "Oscar Worthy".

12 Years a Slave....

The nappy headed, sweaty, wailing negro in distress has always garnered violins and red carpet pity parties for a race of people who can never leave history. 

My people have been to Hell, But they are still on the rise as Maya Angelou suggests. The problem is not that Hollywood dares to tell realistic tragic stories in American history, but my eyebrow raises when it becomes painfully evident that we have to be niggers on film in order to dress up for the Oscars. 

Precious, The Help, 12 Years a Slave, Django, The Butler and Lincoln, are all films released in the last few years which saw Oscar nods, and all of them feature battered Black people. Of course this has been a long tradition in Hollywood and even television, Enter Roots. In my opinion, it seems that films like 12 Years a Slave are the torture porn which accompany the racial bullet points needed to garner Oscar nods. What's more, is that Black directors like Lee Daniels (Precious) and Steve McQueen (12 Years a Slave) can only advance in Hollywood by oppressing Black people on screen. The state of the film industry is simple; White actors get Oscars for acting, Black actors get Oscars for subject matter. What is that subject matter? It's either: 
A. Slavery/Oppression of Blacks
B. Gang violence 
C. The White Savior of the helpless nigger

Depressed Black Oppressed=OSCAR

Denzel rivals King Kong several decades after Hattie McDaniel cleaned White people's shit for an Oscar. The Help still dresses up for the momentous occasion of the White savior. The statue of the bald headed White man is what every good negro actor strives for.

White Victim + Scary Black Man=OSCAR

Tell me something, out of all of the strong performances of the great actor Denzel Washington over the years, why has only one given him an Oscar? One where he plays a role that almost any actor could, one of a street thug. Denzel was too great of a Black actor for Hollywood, they had to put him in his place by forcing him to be connected to that one role for the rest of his life. He may have been Malcolm X, he may have had a thing for a Devil in a Blue Dress, but at the end of the day, your entire career will be overshadowed by what they want you to represent. You will be the nigger in the street with guns blazing. You will be the slutty Carmen Jones type, riding cock and sexualized out of your talents. Halle, you will get that Oscar, and never be heard from again.

Well who is heard from again? People like George Clooney and Sandra Bullock.

THE WHITE SAVIOR. THE HELPLESS NEGRO=OSCAR

Sandra Bullock is an Oscars darling. The racist academy raised their glasses while she saved an uneducated Black football player from poverty in the film, The Blind Side. It was a heart warming tale of a rich white Christian woman, who showed a poor negro what it's like to be civilized. She saved him like no Black person could or was willing to do. The film is one of many that parade the idea that Blacks need saving. Dangerous Minds, Mississippi Burning, Cry Freedom, Cool Runnings, The Butler...The list goes on when it comes to Hollywood's obsession with the White savior. 

Blacks never boycott because after all, they've long been brainwashed to worship a White Jesus. Hell, Tyler Perry keeps this Jesus in a six foot tall, gun-totting, big breasted grandmother named Madea. So Black people are simply too preoccupied to give a damn about how they are depicted. 

The Whites tried to save the cursing negro in "A Time to Kill"

Black people are too busy waiting for Sandra Bullock and the other White people of the law to save a negro in A Time to Kill. While I love Sandra Bullock as an actresses and humanitarian, I can't help but be irritated at the number of White savior films she's been apart of. It seems that Miss Bullock was inspired by her golden statue, because not long after, she joined the bandwagon of White millionaire starlets who save African babies. Miss Bullock adopted her African baby in true Hollywood fashion. She not only plays the role, she lives the role. What would Africa do without Angelina Jolie, Madonna and Sandra? Quiet as it's kept, I was adopted at birth, but to Black parents. I fell in love with the film, Losing Isaiah at a young age, but come to think of it, that film implied that Black couples can't save Black babies. 

Speaking of Halle Berry, do you remember who made her, "FEEL GOOD"???

A racist white man. Do you remember how uneducated she was, how Latisha Musgrove needed a White man to save her from the problems of her dark skinned bad boy baby's daddy on death row? He needed to fuck the tears out of her and make her forget about the death of her fat greedy Black son.

Black Whore=OSCAR

Look at her name, "Latisha Musgrove..." It implies a mixed woman like Halle is, her Black mother would name her Latisha and Musgrove is clearly a European name from her father. The stereotypes of that film deterred the actress Angela Bassett from playing the starring role, but we all saw how Halle Berry gradually distanced herself from Black directors. This was her chance to completely sell out. To get that check and be invited to the eyes wide shut parties. This was her chance to win the Oscar. She was well aware that her exposed breasts and a White dick would get her a golden Mr. Clean statue. Sorry Spike Lee, the Black folk you've made famous don't give a damn about you now.
I digress, well actually, I am right on topic.

Successful Blacks with universal issues=Magic Theaters + No Oscar

You see, films like The Best Man, Malcolm X and Eve's Bayou don't interest The Academy or mainstream Hollywood. Why is it that Black people go to the movies to see a bunch of privileged White women humiliate Black women in The Help, while a bunch of educated Black people in a series like The Best Man doesn't get the same excitement? Because Black people insist on being depicted as victims. They insist on feeling sorry for something they've never experienced and believe that our stories of triumph or even modern day romances aren't worthy of the same glory as "mainstream" films like The Proposal.

We all know that mainstream is code for, "WHITE"

Successful Whites with Universal Issues=$327 Million worldwide

Yes, Sandra Bullock falling in love on screen will always book more interviews on more major talk shows than Nia Long in a warm embrace with Eddie Cibrian, even if he's White.
Let's face it, Hollywood is segregated. If Black directors want to get "mainstream" recognition then they need to NIGGER IT UP. They need to bring on the stories of Black struggle where Whites or mixed people save the day. Enter Precious.

I am not that old, so it is a shame that I have witnessed so many slave ships get the green light and first class flights to Access Hollywood. I've seen a lot of wholesome films like Soul Food and Love Jones but I never got to see these actors on the talk shows I would watch. I never got to really know these stars, how they really were outside of films. Keep in mind, this was in the nineties, it was worse then, but now, it's not so much better. Anyone who matters in Black Hollywood is too afraid of Wendy Williams and Oprah threw in the towel. David Letterman doesn't know who Sanaa Lathan is and probably would assume she was an intern while groping her in the dressing room.

"Love Jones" a Black Hollywood classic 

With so much diversity in the leaves this November, it's just an unfortunate shame that STILL we don't rise.
Still, White people get to fly in space while Black people continue to support the only formula that gets us noticed. Still we are unaware that we are separate but equal when it comes to casting.

The powerful inspirational image of Sanda Bullock falling from space, in a burning capsule and finally standing tall on a beach is something the Regina Halls of Hollywood will never reach. Their capsules would simply burn up in earth's atmosphere, no close up shots of their brown hands in the sand. Miss Bullock experienced cinematic triumph in a way no Black actor ever could to such a wide audience. It was a telling moment when that movie concluded with the crescendo of music blasting in my ear. In the next theater, slaves picked cotton and I was glad that Sandra's character didn't die, but I wondered why Black characters do nothing but cry.                                                                       The Oscars lie.